THE HAMILTON MINUTE

An Engineer in the Woods, Installment 4: Critters #2, An Epic Battle

Friday, September 1, 2017

“They’re here...”

My mind immediately flashed to the movie Poltergeist when Mom greeted us in the front foyer. Kristen and I were just “stopping by” after work, but other visitors had preceded us, and I knew from Mom’s voice what they were, BATS!

“Where?” I asked with trepidation.

“Flying around the Living Room.”

“Sh*#.”

Our youngest, Ricky, used to keep a net in Grandma’s garage for catching swamp critters. His older sisters, Aileen and Sean would use it too and even though all three were now young adults, they would still occasionally scoop-up things for fun – I did too (and still do) when no one’s watching! I knew where to look and I quickly found the net. It was time to go bat-scooping!!

I grabbed a small LED flashlight in my left hand (the house was always dark until we added lights with the remodel), held the net high over my head in my right hand, and crept into the dimly-lit living room prepared for Bat-tle. The compact, but bright white light from my left sweaty palm revealed a dark shadow tracing a continuous high-speed oval from the fireplace, to the dining room around Great-Grandma Nobes’ antique wrought-iron chandelier and back again. I was going nowhere near a 150-year-old family heirloom with a net, so I chose the other end of the room, springing around the couch, tripping over a footstool and finding myself face-down on the floor in front of the fireplace. The pale green plush carpet had cushioned my impact, so I was able to immediately begin to right myself just as another dark object sprang from the flagstone wall over the fireplace, swoofing past my left ear. There were now two Dracula wanna-bes flapping and diving through their aerial counterclockwise Nascar track around the room.

I stood and started waving the net in the dark like a deranged band director, but either these bats were smarter than Minnesota bats, or I had lost my touch from nearly 30 years ago. My mind wandered back to my honeymoon night (See Installment #2, Appendix) – was it the additional 50 pounds, or the fact that I was wearing clothes this time that was slowing me down…? Either way, this time my bat-ting average was 000. I needed assistance.

“Kristen, open the front door, then get a broom from the kitchen and let’s see if together we can encourage the bats to go outside!”

“Bats!!!? More than one??!”

“Just two” (I prayed) “Little Browns.” We had become bat experts, but in the dark, I really couldn’t tell if they were either little or brown.

“Little, huh?” She knows my crap when I’m throwing it around.

We turned-on every dim light, and in a dysfunctional tribal war dance we shouted, we jumped, we swatted, we scooped… After a few moments one of the beasts broke formation toward the foyer where Mom stood hunched over her walker watching our performance with a look of bemusement and pity for what had become an obvious waste of too many college degrees. The brown demon tucked its wings and dove right toward my mother whom, thanks to her poor hearing and poorer eyesight had no warning of the impending impact. Thankfully, the bat was not as blind as Mom, and it quickly selected a better option than collision with a 90 year-old whom had dispatched one of its brethren just a few months earlier. However, rather than veering left toward the open door and freedom, the dumb-bat careened to the right and down the stairs.

“Crap,” net in hand I raced downstairs to catch the varmint.

I flipped-on the light switch for the rec-room as the aerialist took a sharp bank over the pool table and landed at the top of the barn board wall near its intersection with the rough-sawn cedar ceiling. I tiptoed and eased the net toward the cowering critter. Right as I prepared to swoop it into my mesh trap it scurried and disappeared into a crack no wider than a nickel is thick.

I couldn’t believe it, “SH*#!”

Kristen had appeared beside me. “If there are bats in the walls, I am NEVER going to live here!!” <sh*#>

We returned upstairs to collect the remaining intruder. It had disappeared as well. <sh*#>

Kristen and I drove home to Plainfield in stunned silence, my mind racing with Rube Goldberg inspired bat trap designs. As we pulled into our driveway I offered my solution. “Glue traps and mist nets.” Her continued silence loudly proclaimed her doubt in my abilities.

I eBayed early into the next morning, and by the time I crawled into bed I had 4, 8’x10’ black cotton nets (mist nets were way too expensive) and 50 glue traps on the way, next day air.

Upstairs we hung the nets from the rafters and tension chords (see Installment 3) with tacks, making the living room look like the Black Pearl (Pirates of the Caribbean) and put 20 of the glue traps into the ineffective recessed lighting tracks at the top of the walls (there will be a future story on the lights). We tacked the remaining glue traps to the barn board walls in the downstairs rec-room. Mom was not pleased with the decorating.

Early the next morning I came to collect the many trapped bats. There were none. Mom reminded me that she was not pleased with the decorating.

Early the following morning I came to collect the many trapped bats. There were none. Mom reminded me that she was not pleased with the decorating.

Early the third morning I came to collect the many trapped bats. There were none. Mom reminded me that she was not pleased with the decorating.

Early the next morning I came to collect the many trapped bats. There were none. Mom reminded me that she was not pleased with the decorating.

Early the next morning I came to collect the many trapped bats. There were none. Mom reminded me that she was not pleased with the decorating.

Early the next morning I came to collect the many trapped bats. There were none. Mom reminded me that she was not pleased with the decorating.

I skipped a day.

Early the next morning I came to collect the many trapped bats. There were none. Mom reminded me that she was not pleased with the decorating. She was further displeased that I had not shown-up to collect the non-existent bats on the previous day.

Mom called me at work later that morning. She had hired a “REAL” bat expert. He would be at the house at 3:00. She wanted me to meet him and to get rid of all the “damned nets and traps” before he got there. I cancelled three meetings. I went to the house, rolled-up the nets, and collected 49 glue traps. I was fairly sure there had been 50, but I thought I must have miscounted. I didn’t. Future story.

I have forgotten the name of the batguy, but he seemed like a Buford. Buford explained to me with both of his teeth how difficult and expensive it was to catch bats (translation, “Your mommy is going to give me A LOT of money, and it won’t make any difference!”). We inspected the outside perimeter of the house. I showed him where we had applied caulk around every opening and the continuous length of stainless-steel wool, caulk and aluminum channel that we had added along the base of the board and batten exterior siding. Buford was unimpressed. “I’m just lookin’ for guano” (fancy Spanish name for bat crap). “The guano shows where the bats is gettin’ in.” Major revelation – I could use bat-crap piles (I’m just not a guano guy) to learn where the bats were getting into the cottage in Minnesota (future blog).

Buford found a guano pile at the outside corner where the lanai (that’s a fancy word that I will use) meets the house, 25 feet in the air. He would have to go back to the shop to get a ladder and a cage. Two weeks and $500 later he had supposedly caught a single bat that I was never given the opportunity to see. Once he removed the cage (and bat) I filled the hole with steel wool and caulk. We never saw another living bat inside the house.

Still more to come….

Have a beautiful, bat-free day!

Howard

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